Summer After Summer

“Hey, Sunshine. You up for one last try?”

“Sure.” If he’d asked me to jump off the bridge I would’ve done it. I would’ve run with scissors if he’d suggested it.

“I suspect he’s a lost cause, but I’m gonna try one more thing. If I get him up, give it enough gas to keep him in an upright position, okay? Go down the river where it’s not quite so crowded. I’m leaving my skis here, so after he goes down help him into the boat and come back to get me. I don’t think he’ll stay up very long. Is that okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie jumped back in the water and paddled over to his student in preparation for another try. When he gave the thumbs-up, I hit the gas and much to my surprise whatever Charlie did worked.

“He’s up,” Billy yelled.

“Thank goodness,” I muttered. The whole thing was getting old.

“Give it more gas. He’s a pretty big guy.” Billy said. “I want to keep him up as long as possible.”

“I do, too.” I made a wide, gentle arc into the river. Our passenger did not need to get fancy. Experienced skiers preferred the smooth water outside the wake. Novices, on the other hand, were safer within the confines of the boat wave.

“How’s he doing?” I shouted to be heard over the roar of the engine.

“Fine,” Billy said, and then amended his assessment. “Uh-oh. He’s out in the smooth water. I wonder how he managed that?”

Yeah, how did he do it? It took some measure of control to jump the slight swell created by the boat, and control wasn’t his forte.

I decided the derelict Two Mile Bridge would be a great turning-around place. We could go under the bridge and I’d slow down to allow our student to sink into the water. Then we’d retrieve him and this fiasco would be over.

Too bad it didn’t happen that way. Not even close.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Billy screamed. “Stop! Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God!”

It was the desperation of his last “Oh, God” that prompted me to jerk back on the throttle, stalling the engine.

“What?” I launched myself from the driver’s seat and ran to the rear of the boat.

I looked toward where our student should’ve been, but there was no one in sight. The only thing I could see was the yellow nylon ski rope stretched out behind us.

“He hit the bridge pillar.” Billy put his hands on his head and rocked back and forth. “Oh, my God! Shit! He hit the bridge!”

“He did what?” I wanted to smack Billy. “What? What did he do?” Surely Billy was wrong.

“He hit the bridge,” Billy Tom moaned. “He smacked into the concrete!”

My heart flapped around like a landed bass, but I somehow maintained enough awareness to know we had to do something.

“Pull in the rope, Billy! Right now!” My tone of voice must have penetrated his building panic, because he did as I instructed.

I turned the boat around and slowly motored back to the bridge. Please, God, please, God, please, please, please—Billy had to be wrong.

“There he is.” Billy spotted Stuart’s orange life vest. “Damn! Damn! Damn! Look at his neck.”

One glance at the unnatural angle of his head and I about lost it. He had to be dead. With all that blood in the water, he had to be dead.

Dead!

I motored up next to the body and Billy was in the water almost before I cut the engine. He was now issuing orders. I, on the other hand, was but an inch from pure terror. “I’m going to take him to shore,” Billy called. He had Stuart in a rescue hold and was swimming to the riverbank.

“Drive over to that dock and see if someone’s home. We have to call the cops,” he shouted.

I wanted my Daddy. He could make everything better, I told myself. But could he really?

I barely had the boat stopped before I was out of it and sprinting up the hill, praying that someone would be home.

“Help us,” I screeched, beating on the door. My guardian angel must’ve been working overtime. Thank you, God!

Mrs. Thompson was a tiny woman with steel-gray hair. “Take a deep breath and put your head between your legs,” she told me.

After she was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, she asked, “What’s the problem?”

Somehow between sobs, I managed to spit out my story. By that time, Mr. Thompson had joined us. He was the one who called for the rescue units.

Mrs. Thompson was a retired nurse and she ran with me to where Billy Tom had laid Stuart on the grass. Regrettably there was no need for medical assistance. She confirmed my worst suspicion; Stuart was not returning to his good life in the Corvette lane.

“Someone has to go downriver to get Charlie.” My teeth were chattering like castanets, making it hard to get the words out.

“Charlie?” Mr. Thompson asked.

“Yeah, he was teaching Stuart to ski and he dropped off in the water over that way.” I nodded toward Charlie’s location.

Looking back on it, I think I scared Mr. Thompson half to death. The way he jumped into his boat and sped off, he must’ve thought he was about to find another dead body.

It seemed like an eternity, although it was probably just a matter of minutes before he returned with Charlie.

“Oh, Charlie.” That was all I could say before I broke into tears.

“It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” He sank down on the grass where I was huddled in one of Mrs. Thompson’s blankets.

Damn, I was cold.

“Listen to me,” Charlie commanded. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He enveloped me in an embrace. He was warm. He was safe. And my world had just imploded.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Much to my surprise, Daddy was sitting on the ground next to me. Where had he come from?

I looked up and was astonished to see a fleet of fire and police vehicles.

“I’m taking you home.” Daddy pulled me to my feet and propelled me in the direction of his cruiser. “Come on, boys, I’ll drive you home, too. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to talk about what happened.”

Chapter 7